


What Sort Of A Name Is Sherrinford?

by Brihna



Series: Brihna's Prompt-fills: 00Q [13]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: 00Q - Freeform, Established Relationship, M/M, Prompt Fill, Q is a Holmes, Q is everyone's darling, Tumblr Prompt, abuse of government resources, the Holmes brothers are mother hens, this may have gotten a little out of hand
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-22 09:44:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11964807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brihna/pseuds/Brihna
Summary: Q has recently entered into a relationship with a certain double-o. The Holmes brothers meddle.





	What Sort Of A Name Is Sherrinford?

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous said:
> 
> Hello! Amazing that you're taking prompts, because you have absolutely amazing work! Do you think you could do a 00Q fic where Q is a Holmes? Mainly, I'm thinking, it would be great if it could involve shovel talks and Mycroft and Sherlock just seeing Q as their adorable little brother. :)

Q woke up to early morning light and the pleasant weight of a muscular arm draped over his side. He couldn’t say for sure what had woken him, but he only had an hour or so before his alarm was going to go off anyway so he decided he might as well start the day. If he stayed in bed with James, the man was sure to make him late, which he had to admit _was_ a bit tempting. He was still pleasantly sore from last night. But the responsible side of him won out, and he carefully extricated himself from James’ hold, retrieved his glasses from the nightstand, and padded barefoot into the hall.

When he reached the kitchen, he noticed two things amiss. One, the cats were not demanding to be fed. Two, the kettle was already sitting on the counter, half full with water. In fact, now that he was paying attention, he could smell bergamot.

“Good morning, brother dear,” a familiar voice singsonged; far too chipper for this hour of the morning.

Q nearly jumped out of his skin. He spun on his heal and met the speaker with a lethal glare. “ _Sherlock_ ,” he tried not to intone too loudly. “ _What the bloody hell are you doing in my flat_? How did you even get _in_?”

Sherlock sat primly at the edge of the living room sofa, legs crossed and balancing a mug of tea in his hands. As usual, he seemed completely unperturbed. “Is it so wrong that I should stop by to check in on my baby brother?” he asked innocently. “Your security system has a few flaws by the way. And what sort of an alias is _Quincy Boothroyd_?”

Q rubbed his face behind his glasses tiredly. It was too early for this. “I didn’t pick it out.”

“Still. _Quincy_?”

Q groaned. “Sherlock,” the even tone barely masked the dangerous edge in his voice. “What are you doing here?”

But Sherlock, of course, had already gotten distracted. The mug of tea sat abandoned on the coffee table and he was on his feet now, regarding Q with narrow eyes. Oh, he knew that look. “That’s not your t-shirt,” he stated simply.

Q glanced down at himself, having forgotten what he’d thrown on in the middle of the night. The shorts he wore were certainly his, but the soft grey tee with the crest of the Royal Navy emblazoned over his heart- belonged to James. He shot him a warning look. “Sherlock-”

“There’s a bottle of Macallan in the liquor cabinet,” he went on. “Scotch has never been your taste.” His eyes widened marginally and he raised an accusatory finger. “You’re sleeping with someone.”

“Oh for f-”

“Am I interrupting something?” came the rather amused voice from behind him.

Q turned to find James leaning casually against the doorframe, glancing curiously between the two of them, and Q felt his cheeks reddening. Of course, the bloody bastard hadn’t bothered putting on a shirt. _Kill me now._ “No. Sherlock was just leaving-”

But Sherlock had already stepped forward and began circling James like a shark as he moved further into the room. “Royal Navy, obviously, given that the shirt you’re wearing is definitely his,” he told Q. “But I’m going to go with _former_ , given age and his proximity to you. But some of these scars are new. You can’t enter this building without some level of security clearance, so clearly someone you met at work. Someone from work who stays in shape out of necessity, not just vanity and seems to be constantly getting new scars; some of these from bullets and other obvious knife wounds. Given the nature of your job and the fact you don’t tend to intermingle outside of your own department, I’m going to go with agent. Double-o specifically.”

To all this, James simply raised an eyebrow, and turned to Q conspiratorially. “Do I need to shoot him?” he asked, far too amusedly.

Q sighed. “It is rather tempting,” he said. “But, unfortunately no. The paperwork would be a nightmare.”

“You wound me, brother dear,” he quipped. He extended a hand to James. “Sherlock Holmes.”

“Bond,” he answered with a firm handshake. “James Bond. 007, since everything’s all out in the open.” He quirked an eyebrow. “What sort of a name is Sherlock?”

“What sort of a name is Sherrinford?” he answered with a pointed look at Q.

He was strongly reconsidering not shooting him. “All right! That’s enough,” said Q, starting to literally shove Sherlock toward the door. “You’ve done enough prying into my personal life and I’ve got to be off to work. And I’m sure you have kidnappings to solve. Those missing rabbits aren’t going to find themselves.”

“That was one time!” answered Sherlock, looking mildly affronted as Q pushed him out the door.

“And if you breathe a word of this to Mycroft, I’ll delete Dr. Watson’s blog and make sure all the missing pet cases in London land on your doorstep,” Q threatened.

Sherlock waved over his shoulder. “It was nice to have met you, James!”

Q slammed the door in his face.

When he turned back, having reengaged the locks and made a mental note to update his security protocols, James was regarding him with clear amusement on his face.

“Sherrinford?”

Q let his head fall back against the door with a thud. “I’ve not let anyone call me that since primary school,” he groaned.

He tried to stalk past James, but he caught him around his waist, halting his progress. “So, what did people call you?” he asked, plying him with a kiss behind his ear. “You still haven’t told me your real name, you know.”

Q sighed. He supposed there was no point in keeping it from him now. “Elliot,” he admitted. “I always went by my middle name. It was better than _Sherrinford._ But I _like_ Q. That’s who I am now.”

James hummed in acknowledgment against the side of his throat. “Sherrinford Elliot Holmes,” he mused.

“Still just Q,” he reiterated firmly.

“Of course, love,” he assured him, placing a kiss at the junction of neck and shoulder. “It’s nice to know it, though. And an- older?- brother?”

“Two,” Q groused. “And if you think he’s odd, wait until you meet the other one.”

“Hmm,” said James. “I can hardly wait.”

* * *

And, of course, he didn’t have long to wait because Sherlock never could keep his mouth shut about these things and Mycroft was big on theatrics. As soon as James stepped out of MI6 later that afternoon, there was a car waiting for him in the carpark. A fairly attractive young brunette never took her eyes off her phone as she ushered him inside. James assessed that the risk was minimal, given that whoever this was had been allowed into the MI6 carpark, and decided to go along.

The car stopped outside what appeared to just be an abandoned factory of some sort, but he followed the brunette inside- who still had yet to look up from her phone. When they stepped into a central open space, what must once have served as the factory floor, he spotted a man in a three piece suit at the other end, leaning on the handle of a large black umbrella. James approached him casually.

“Good afternoon,” said James.

“Afternoon,” the man replied coolly.

“Interesting place to meet someone,” said James, slipping his hands into his pockets as he came to a halt a few feet away.

“Well, I had hoped to avoid surveillance,” he answered. “Quite resourceful, our Q. Every camera in the city becomes his eyes if he so chooses. Every listening device, his ears.”

James nodded. “Quite.”

“It has come to my attention that your interest in him has stretched beyond professional,” he went on. “What are your intentions toward MI6’s Quartermaster?”

James quirked an eyebrow at him, wearing his customary smirk. When the man simple stared back with the utmost seriousness, he barked a laugh. “He warned me about you,” he said. “He said you had a flair for the dramatic. Mycroft, is it?”

He tried to keep his expression neutral, James could tell, but his grip tightened on the umbrella in his hand. “Did he also tell you that I hold a position in the British government?” he asked. “There is a chain of command here. Even for a double-o. If I really wanted, I could make you disappear.”

James smirked. “Well, others have certainly tried. Listen. Mycroft,” he took a step closer. “I don’t know if you or the other one realize this; but Q is an adult. And he’s perfectly capable of making decisions for himself. Now, I never had siblings, so I don’t really know what it’s like, but I’m sure that he wouldn’t want you prying into his sex life.”

Mycroft’s eyebrows lifted. “So it _is_ just sex then?”

James opened his mouth to respond, but was suddenly interrupted by his phone buzzing incessantly. He slipped it from his pocket, mouth ticking up at one corner when he saw the name on the display. He held up a finger as if to say, ‘hold please,’ and took the call. “Yes, dear?”

There was a slight pause on the other end of the line. _“Um. Hello?”_ Q sounded confused. _“I was just checking in. I think I may actually finish on time today and wanted to know if you’d like to get takeaway for dinner.”_

“Hmm. That sounds lovely,” said James. “We’ve both been wanting to try that new Thai place for a while.”

 _“Perfect,”_ said Q. _“Pick me up at 5 then?”_

“Of course, darling,” he answered.

 _“Good. Well, I suppose that’s settled.”_ Another pause. _“James- is everything alright?”_

“Of course,” James grinned. “I was just chatting with your brother, Mycroft actually. He seems rather concerned about your well being.”

There was another moment of silence, then Q’s tone turned frigid. _“Put him on the phone.”_

James’ grinned broadened. “I’ll put you on speaker,” he said. _I’d quite like to hear this._

He pulled the phone away from his ear and held it out in front of him. If Mycroft had been giving him what he supposed were intimidating looks before, there was a slight hint of unease now.

 _“Mycroft? What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?”_ Q growled.

“Just looking out for your welfare, little brother,” he answered. “Sherlock tells me you’ve been seeing a double-o. I’m sure you can understand my concern-”

 _“Bloody meddling is what you’re doing,”_ he shot back. _“My personal life is none of your business. Now, if you would kindly cease abusing government resources for the sake of your snooping, 007 has much more important things to be getting on with. Bond-”_

James quirked an eyebrow. “Q?”

On the other end he could hear him take a deep breath, and his tone had softened considerably when he spoke. _“5 o’clock then, yes?”_

James smirked. “I’ll see you then.”

_“Good. Oh, and James?”_

“Yes dear?” he answered, just because he enjoyed the look on Mycroft’s face at the endearment.

_“Could you stop by the market on your way home? The cats are almost out of food.”_

“Well, we can’t have that,” said James. “I’ll add it to the list. I’m on my way there now.”

 _“Thank you, darling,”_ said Q.

Mycroft was looking increasingly uncomfortable.

“Anything for you, love.” James gave Mycroft a wink, turned on his heel, and headed back the way he came.

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first venture into Q is a Holmes, so please leave your thoughts in the comments!
> 
> If you'd like to leave a prompt, see this post: http://ao3-brihna.tumblr.com/post/164800133361/prompts-are-officially-open-hello-my-lovelies :)


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